


The Journey

by Mattie07



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Age Regression/De-Aging, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mattie07/pseuds/Mattie07
Summary: Voldemort thought he finally had a foul-proof plan to end Harry Potter once and for all.Unfortunately, what was supposed to be his Plan B, if a simple Avada Kedavera wouldn't finish the job again, severely backfired on him thanks to the wand which should have made him invincible.Now he's stuck in the middle of nowhere with a thirty-years-something Harry Potter, whilst he himself is stuck in his four-year-old body.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter & Voldemort
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So this would be my first fanfiction, and hopefully the first larger piece of writing I'll complete. Please excuse the few grammatical mistakes I will no doubt make, as I'm not a native speaker. Also, keep in mind that I'm usually used to writing from an I-perspective in the present tense. This work is meant to be written in the past tense, but I'm sure I'll mess up somewhere. I'll just have to edit this work as I go.  
> Constructive criticism is appreciated! 
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters and the world don't belong to me, but to a lady I'm sure you all know, who goes by the name of J.K. Rowling.

**The Journey Chapter One**

He woke up to a vision of blackness and a massive headache. 

Was this what death was supposed to be like?

No, that could not be possible, he refused to be dead! An attempt at moving was made, which made him realize that he was wrapped up in some sort of black cloth.

Now, he wasn't sure what death was supposed to be like, but it should not be half-suffocating in a black cloth for all of eternity. He tried to free himself, but for some reason the infuriating fabric wasn't feeling very cooperative, and he was only getting tangled up more and more.

'Bloody hell, what's that!?' A slightly familiar voice exclaimed from beyond his black cocoon.

Interesting, it might be one of his followers. He was just about to demand that he be freed, when he felt a hand on him. The suddenness of the gesture made him jolt, and he kept very still. Hopefully the person would free him now;He was however of course immediately obliviating whoever the soul was that had to see Their Lord this way.

Where was his wand though?

Whoever it was the voice belonged to was making quick work of freeing him, soon he was able to do the last bit of freeing himself, even if he still hadn't found his wand frustratingly.

The black cloth fell open and he closed his eyes at the sudden abundance of light. A shiver ran down his spine, for some reason, he felt very 'bare' without the cloth entrapping him.

He heard a gasp he could only identify as 'horrified'. Hmm, perhaps it wasn't a Death Eater that had freed him after all? Voldemort squinted and slowly opened his eyes as they adjusted to the light.

He noticed a very tall shadow looming over him, still squinting, he zoomed in on the face of whoever it was and had to let out a gasp as well, but his was more a gasp of despair.

So he was dead after all, there was no other explanation for James Potter staring down at him like he was about to faint.

The fainting part seemed a bit peculiar however? Wouldn't James Potter only be exhilarated, knowing that his wife's murderer had finally gotten what he deserved?

Voldemort's eyes narrowed even further as he studied the features of the man, still staring at him. He actually estimated this man to be older than James Potter had ever been. Perhaps it was what he'd have looked like were he to be still alive in this age and time.

Then his vision actually focused on the man's eyes and he felt a sensation he could only describe as his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

It was actually Potter!

Well, he supposed he'd concluded that earlier, but it was Potter, Potter, The Potter.

Everything came back to him then, their 'final fight' in which he'd been determined to finally rid the world of the teenager forever. He'd even tried the special spell, different from Avada Kedavra, of which he'd been sure it'd end Harry Potter for good. At first he'd tried to use his favorite of course, but seeing as Potter had risen from the death yet again, he'd gone to plan B. Apparently things had still gone wrong somehow, even with him wielding the Elder Wand.

Voldemort felt like screaming in frustration, but it wouldn't do to do that when Potter was standing in front of him with a dazed expression. Voldemort supposed he should try to flee for this time, no matter how frustrating that was. He would of course have engaged Potter in a fight again if he only knew where the wand was, but that was for later.

Voldemort stood, his legs were shaking madly and he was still shivering all over. When he glanced at Potter again two realizations hit him. The first thing was something he should've realized earlier, as he had first thought that the man was an older James Potter. Harry Potter looked far older than he had been when Voldemort had last seen him.

He was around his mid-thirties maybe?

Strange, seemed like the spell had worked, but not to the extend he'd have liked.

The second thing was perhaps the most disconcerting, Voldemort had to crane his neck to look at the man's face properly. From this he concluded that he was, much, much smaller.

What was this? A shrinking curse? Whatever it was, Voldemort was not amused. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of ridiculing him however, he had to stand his ground.

'Potter.' He tried to say menacingly, but it came out wrong, and way too high pitched.

Potter looked at him, not stopping his silent staring contest. Voldemort looked around him in panic, as if something in the vicinity could explain his voice and height, or fix it. Of course there wasn't, where even were they?!

It didn't matter, he spotted a pond of sorts and made his way to it, stumbling over his own two ridiculously tiny feet. Potter didn't even try to stop him. Voldemort knelt down by the water and just stared at what he could only assume to be his face.

A familiar face stared back at him, grey-blueish eyes, messy black hair, a small nose.

It was him.

He looked like he was about four years old.

His last thought before he passed out was that, that was another spell that had backfired on him big time. The list only kept growing it seemed.

When Voldemort woke up, it all came back to him like some terrible nightmare that he'd had. For a second he actually believed it to only have been a nightmare, but that was before he noticed he was wrapped up in the black cloth again, which by now he realized were his robes. At least he wasn't trapped in them again, instead just comfortably wrapped up like some baby. That thought made his face contort into a scowl.

Voldemort sat up and saw Potter sitting in the grass, watching him with a unidentifiable expression. He stared right back at him, schooling his expression.

Of course Harry Potter hadn't killed him in his sleep, especially since he looked like a four-year-old, and this was a Griffindor he was talking about. Couldn't he however at least have restrained him or something?

Or left him?

Leaving him seemed like the most logical choice, it was what Voldemort would've done, if he'd been a Gryffindor at least.

Potter coughed, as if he didn't have Voldemort's undivided attention already, and simply said: 'So..'

Voldemort tried to raise an eyebrow-an old habit from when he still had them-but as he was in the body of a four-year-old right now he didn't quite manage. Inwardly shrugging, he regarded Potter for a while, analyzing the situation, and the way he should go about it. He probably couldn't get away with playing like he hadn't retained his adult mind and had suddenly reverted to being a child mentally. His reaction to all of this had ruined that possibility, though it could've been fun to possibly get Potter to actually care about him only to betray him.

He supposed he'd have to come up with a more solid plan later, right now he'd follow Potter's lead.

'You're not suddenly deaf too, right?' Potter sounded almost amused.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and sent what he hoped was a somewhat menacing glare Potter's way. It seemed not to do much of anything and Voldemort sighed.

'Patience Potter, let me process this for a second.'

'I've let you process 'this' for what were probably about five minutes. It's questioning time now.'

Voldemort almost snorted, as if he held all the knowledge of where they were, or what had exactly happened to them. Nevertheless, he supposed it could help to gather their thoughts and paint a clearer picture.

'Fine then, what do you remember?'

Potter narrowed his eyes at him, probably having wanted to question Voldemort exclusively or something. He seemed to compose himself, taking a deep breath to hold whatever cutting remark probably had been on the tip of his tongue back. Voldemort smirked, apparently being in the body of a four-year-old did not diminish his ability to get under Potter's skin.

'Good well, we fired a spell at each other. In my case, it was an Expelliarmus,' Voldemort's smirk grew at that,'In your case, I'm not sure.'

'Well of course, it was something I had saved as a Plan B of sorts, and obviously that was needed, since you decided to become The Boy Who Lived Twice.' Potter seemed almost thoughtful after that admission.

'How did that spell exactly differ from the killing curse?'

To tell Potter, or to not tell Potter, the spell hadn't worked of course, but that didn't mean it may not be handy to keep this information to himself. The thirty-something man sighed as he came to the realization that the 'four-year-old' wasn't going to be very cooperative.

'My guess is that it had to do something with aging?'

Potter was correct obviously, but Voldemort didn't feel like confirming anything, or explaining himself. He himself did go over the specifics of the spell in his head. The spell-work had been a rather tricky for it, but with the Elder Wand it should have worked perfectly, especially with him now being its master.

Wait a second, that thought brought back a strange feeling, like he should remember something. His mouth fell open and he stared up at Harry, who simply frowned at him. In the heat of the moment Voldemort had dismissed almost everything that came out of Potter's mouth, simply because of his need to finally be rid of the pest, but now that he'd somewhat calmed down everything came back to him. The moment before they'd unleashed their spells, had not Harry Bloody Potter declared himself the true master of the Elder Wand?

It had been a truly dumb Gryffindorish thing to tell your enemy, but he, Voldemort had not even found a way to take advantage of the fact that Potter had been handing out all this information!

He balled his fists, driving his nails into his flesh until little red crescent shaped moons appeared. Voldemort looked in Potter's direction again;The man appeared quite annoyed. Well, Voldemort would keep it this way. If he had any brain cells, Potter could probably figure out what happened all by himself.

The Elder Wand had clearly not wished to kill its true master, instead reflecting the spell to Voldemort, but still influencing Potter somehow. And when you took Potter's disarming charm into that mess, somehow that equated to finding themselves who knows where in bodies way younger or older than they should be.

Voldemort was startled from his spiraling thoughts by Potter's grating voice.

'You're talking to yourself Tommy boy.'

'Don't call me that.' Voldemort had been trying to glare again, but Potter simply snickered.

'You'd do well to remember who you're actually talking to.' Voldemort tried to warn, but this time Potter simply rolled his eyes.

'I'm sorry, but I'm not afraid of you, especially how you are now.'

That comment brought back a thought Voldemort had had earlier, along with a surge of annoyance Voldemort was too tired to really get worked up about.

'Potter, you do realize you could have left me here right? I know with your bleeding heart you wouldn't have been able to murder me in cold blood, but leaving me should've done the job.'

'I wanted answers, still do, plus I'm not really sure where we are. We both would probably die, if I did that.'

Voldemort had to concede to that point, the body he had right now had its limits-he was already exhausted- and as far as he knew they didn't have their wands with them. Apparition wasn't an option either, since they both didn't know where they exactly were.

Wait a second, Potter might have a wand, or the Elder Wand even. If he had the Elder Wand he might be able to get out of this mess immediately by disarming Potter somehow and reversing the spell on himself. That is, if this could even be reversed. He certainly hadn't wanted to take any chances when taking out Harry Potter, but he should hold on to a sliver of hope that the Elder Wand's interference may have influenced that somehow. Voldemort certainly didn't wish to be a four-year-old again for much longer, even if he still possessed his own mind, it already felt peculiar and wrong, and he didn't feel like he held any control over his magic.

He caught himself before he actually let out a yawn.

'Yes, I do suppose that would be a wise action from your perspective.'

Voldemort wanted to ask him about the wands, but knew that even Potter would be smart enough to lie about that, if he did have one.

Potter simply nodded and said: 'I actually propose we stay together, at least until the next inhabited place.' Voldemort didn't like the idea, but had to concede it was probably for the best to play along. For now, traversing through the woods as his four-year-old self was less appealing than suffering Potter's presence.

'I agree.' Voldemort answered, hopefully they'd of course resume their duel earlier rather than later. Perhaps soon he'd be able to stumble across a wand somehow, and return himself to normal, so he could rid himself of the last obstacle and finally conquer The Wizarding World.

Potter looked somewhat surprised at his easy acceptance of coming with him, but made no further comment on it. 'So,' he began after an uncomfortable silence, 'where do we even start?'

'I can't travel like this.' Voldemort commented, gesturing to his way too large robes which hid his tiny naked body.

He half-hoped this predicament would prompt Potter to pull out a wand from somewhere, it didn't. Potter scratched his neck in contemplation, the man's own clothing still fit him well enough Voldemort observed.

'I think I might be able to achieve a wandless shrinking charm, it's not that complicated.' Potter said, more to himself than anybody else. 'Take off those robes for a second, wouldn't want to make you any tinier than you already are.'

Voldemort huffed, as if Potter could ever manage something as complicated as shrinking down a human wandlessly, he even doubted the man's ability to be able to do the charm on the clothes alone. He decided on humoring Potter for now, mainly because it wasn't like he had any better ideas, or had enough control of his magic to accomplish shrinking the clothes himself. Luckily, it was pretty sunny, wherever they were, even if Voldemort still couldn't hold back his shivering.

'Reducio!' Potter cast, and miraculously enough the robes actually obeyed.

Voldemort said nothing as he quickly pulled the clothes on, well as quickly as he could with the ridiculous amount of buttons his robes held. He let out an almost childish cry of frustration. For some reason with everything going on he'd been feeling like giving up, curling into a ball and crying his heart out, for some time now, but the adult in him managed to stay in control thankfully.

If Potter noticed anything off about him, he didn't comment about it.

Voldemort finally fastened the very last button. There, he already felt more in control now.

'Let's set up camp for today.' He demanded, trying to sound authoritative, but instead probably sounding more like a whining toddler ready for his bed time. Voldemort decided that he really was losing himself to his exhaustion.

'With what?' Potter asked, not holding back his clear amusement at Voldemort.

'Let's just find or create shelter for now.'

They began inspecting the clearing and found enough branches to built something against a tree, with which Voldemort meant that Potter found enough branches to have built something against a tree. He was simply sitting on a rock, not doing much, except nodding off occasionally. Potter had by then been building a small fire, lighting it with a subtle flick of a finger. It had started to feel like he was not as incompetent with wandless magic as Voldemort had expected of him. Voldemort was almost impressed when he saw Potter transfiguring two more sticks into containers to hold some water from the pond in.

'You know, you could've at least pretended to help me.' Potter commented, after he spotted Voldemort's location.

'Why? You're the adult here, and I'm a four-year-old technically.'

'That sounds like a lame excuse, but fine, be that way.'

They made their way into the shelter, Voldemort would usually never even have considered sleeping on a dirt floor, let alone in Potter's presence, but as soon as he actually laid down on a bunch of leaves he was fast asleep.

Nightmares were something very foreign to adult Voldemort, but to a four-year-old him they had been quite the commodity.

It had started simple enough, in that damned orphanage, always that rotten place. He had walked around aimlessly, until he heard the voices. They were all of people that he had known, talking about him, berating him. They turned into shadows that were chasing him, their forms reminding him of dementors almost.

It was utterly ridiculous, and Voldemort felt quite ashamed of himself waking up with a gasp, his cheeks wet from tears. He glanced over at the dark unmoving form next to him, removed as far away from Voldemort as he could be in the small shelter. Thank Salazar the man was a heavy sleeper. Imagine, the great Voldemort being plagued by childish nightmares conjured up from his apparently four-year-old subconscious.

If he wasn't the one being affected by all this it would've fascinated him how an adult reduced to being a four-year-old, even with his memories intact, seemed to regress to a more basic sort of emotional system. At least it felt that way to him, in his memory he hadn't felt certain emotions for years, and except for a few specific ones, he'd thought he'd rid himself of them.

In fact, he couldn't quite remember his time or mindset as a four-year-old and had always assumed he'd never really felt these sort of things in the first place. Not that he actually felt much of anything right now, other than perhaps the slightest bit of shame. He wiped away the lingering tears and closed his eyes again.

This time it took a while to fall back asleep, but somehow he managed, still being exhausted.

Potter would pay for this when it all was finally over.

Voldemort would make sure of it. He'd gladly dump the blame for this on the Gryffindor too, even if a little voice in the back of his head told him he only had himself to blame.


	2. Optimism

**The Journey Chapter Two Optimism**

This awakening wasn't any more pleasant than the last few times he'd woken up.  
Voldemort didn't even feel like he'd slept much at all actually. He rubbed his eyes, stood, and went over to the small pond to wash his face. 

If Voldemort had hoped that last night while he'd been sleeping he had reverted back to his true self, he was sorely mistaken. This face really wasn't something Voldemort wanted to get used to, just seeing himself this way made him want to retch. 

'Had a good night's sleep?' Since when had Potter been able to sneak up on him? Voldemort decided to stay silent, never having been a person who appreciates small-talk with an arch-nemesis. His silence was interrupted however, by an embarrassing sound, which Voldemort refused to acknowledge had come from him! 

'Hungry?' Potter was still trying to get some sort of reaction from him, but why Voldemort didn't understand. 'I found some blackberries, if you'd like some?' 

Voldemort sighed and simply nodded, before following Potter. It was doubtful Potter had actually successfully managed to identify anything, so it would do good for Voldemort to check Potter wouldn't ingest poison. His obvious eagerness had absolutely nothing to do with that strange noise from earlier. 

Potter led them to the other side of the pond, where several thorny bushes were heavy with fruit. Voldemort actually squealed before starting to gather some, even if his surprise at the sound that had come out of his mouth made several of the hastily gathered berries fall out of his hands. He sent what he hoped was one of his trademark sneers over in Potter's direction, daring him to say something, but the man stayed silent. 

Once he'd eaten a few of the bitter things, with more still in his hands, he turned to Potter, whom himself had been putting berries in the same kind of container he'd transfigured for the water yesterday. Voldemort silently watched him work, as he ate the last of his 'breakfast'. What were they going to do now? 

Obviously they couldn't stay here forever, but they didn't even know where they were exactly. Perhaps they should somewhat try to get an idea of that first. A possibility could even be that he would be able to grasp a glimpse of wherever Potter might have hidden a wand, if he had one that is.

Potter finished with gathering the berries, storing them in an unassuming bag Voldemort guessed he must've transfigured from something too. The man stared at Voldemort in silent contemplation for a while, maybe thinking along the same lines as Voldemort had earlier. It was thus surprising that the only thing that came out of Potter's mouth after such a long period of seemingly deep reflection was: 'You should really wash your face and hands.' 

Voldemort had to curb in another pathetic attempt at raising an eyebrow while being in this body, before actually looking down at his hands. They were pretty purple; He had the sudden urge to touch his face, but that would only serve to make it even dirtier than Voldemort assumed it already was. 

The juice stains were impossible to wash off, no matter how hard he scrubbed. It was frustrating to say the least. He should just try and brush it off, dare Potter to make a 'joke' about it, particularly ones pertaining to the things muggles liked to call 'clowns'. His future revenge would be all the sweeter that way. He dismissed that thought and glanced over to where Potter had been sitting to wait for him. 

'Any idea on the direction we'll take?' Voldemort asked, after approaching him.   
Potter bit his lip; His eyes took on a glassy look behind his spectacles.   
'I know a charm, but I'm unsure as to if it will work with what I have in mind.'   
'Which charm?' There wasn't anything that sprung to Voldemort's mind. He'd actually assumed they might be traveling at night, helped along by constellations and the Pole Star. Potter appeared hesitant before finally giving an answer: 'It's called the Four-Point spell. It acts as a compass.' 

Strange, Voldemort had never heard of such a spell. 'What is the incantation?' 

'Um, Point Me.' 

This had Voldemort more confused than he already felt at not knowing the spell in the first place, because not many spells had an actual English incantation. 'It only works with a wand though, as far as I know, so I'm not sure how to solve that predicament.' 

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the implication of that statement. Did Potter truly not have a wand, or was he hiding something? 

'I'm hopeful it might work with just a stick.' Potter explained, and showed an insignificant looking branch, he probably broke off from one of the larger ones of their night's shelter. A sigh escaped Voldemort's mouth.   
'Just try it.' 

Potter held the branch flat in his hand and cast the unknown incantation, nothing really happened, it seemed Potter's luck with wandless magic had run out for now.   
After about five minutes of Potter willing the branch to do anything, it was thrown into the pond by a very bristled James-Potter-lookalike. 

'Well, that clearly didn't work.' The man concluded, more to himself than his audience. 

'Obviously, was that even an existing spell?' 

Potter ignored him in favor of pacing around in small circles.  
'Do you know anything? You're supposed to have more knowledge of magic than me.' 

'There is this thing called Astronomy.'   
The man ceased his pacing and turned in Voldemort's direction in an almost Snape-like fashion. 

'Right, of course, but we'd have to wait until nightfall for that, and then we still haven't really decided on which direction we should take.' 

'We could always just start walking, to get a feeling of where we are.'   
It wouldn't do to just start heading into a direction blindly, but as long as they marked the places they'd come from,so they wouldn't be getting any more lost than they already were, it couldn't hurt to survey the area. They were clearly in a forest with many deciduous trees, and with the weather being what it was Voldemort guessed it was Spring wherever they were. This guess made him believe they were at least in the Northern hemisphere still, even if he never could be completely sure. 

Potter shut down his racing thoughts with an: 'That's an idea at least.' 

True to their words they headed further into the pretty dense forest. The trees made him feel claustrophobic in a way, considering his current height. They loomed over him and gave the impression of an endless green tunnel. Unfortunately, this seemed to indicate not many humans came here, which meant the only path-like ways they could find, had been made by animals when coming to drink from the pond. Voldemort glanced at Potter. Speaking of water.....  
'We'll have to find another water source, whichever direction we'll ultimately take.' 

It would not do for the great Lord Voldemort to die of thirst, in the body of a four-year-old, while never accomplishing much of anything. After all, he knew he was meant for greatness, surely a time would come when he'd be compared to Merlin himself. Everything he'd went through in his life would be worth it once he was the one at the head of society.

'Why do you talk to yourself so much? In love with the sound of your voice?' 

Voldemort sent a glare Potter's way, which he hoped conveyed his desire to rip out the man's guts and bathe in his blood, if he ever suggested something along the likes of that again. He definitely didn't like having the particular voice he had right now. Couldn't Potter have stayed silent for at least another hour! When he realized he'd voiced that sentiment out loud too, Voldemort almost cursed.

'Well, you're not exactly silent yourself, you know? You have a habit of muttering unintelligible things to yourself.' 

'And? You don't have to listen.' 

Voldemort knew he'd had that habit, but he'd thought he'd long since killed it, at least his followers had never remarked upon it. Of course, if they ever should have done so they would have found themselves at the wrong end of his wand, that might have had something to do with that. However, Voldemort had always made a case about staying on top of the thoughts and gossiping of his Death Eaters, and he couldn't quite remember ever, recently, encountering something about his mumbling. Being an adult dealing with a four-year-old body, emotions, and other ticks that had apparently returned, definitely sucked. 

'Neither do you, hypocrite.' 

'I am not a hippogrif..gr..crite!' 

Potter had the audacity to roll his eyes at him, and Voldemort had the sudden urge to have a spell that would combust a person's eyeballs be the very first thing to cast at Potter once he'd gotten his body and wand back. 

'You're the very definition of a hypocrite Tom Marvolo Riddle.' 

Voldemort felt his body flinch at the name, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything about Potter using it to torment him, right now. 'Am I now?' He spat, not trusting himself to say much more before this devolving into a childish game of 'am not' and 'are too'. Instead, they continued on in silence. 

It was strange actually how silent the forest was. No birds or other animals to be spotted or heard anywhere, even if they clearly lived in the area, judging by the path they were walking on now. Voldemort suppressed a gulp, this might not bode well for them. 

'Say Potter, have you spotted any animals since last night?' 

'Not really, why?' 

Voldemort sighed deeply, Potter was hopeless sometimes, well all the time. .

'This might be an inden..indication of an unknown threat.'

Potter started subconsciously tapping a finger against his lips, while his eyes took took on that glassy look again. 'We'll deal with it when we encounter it.' 

Voldemort snorted, though it sounded more like demented cough of sorts. Of course Potter wouldn't even consider thinking ahead, he needed other people to manipulate him to be able to do anything. Fine then, was there any leverage he could use to get Potter to do.... something? Voldemort wasn't even sure of what he had in mind, and he apparently wouldn't receive any more time to figure it out, because Potter had stopped abruptly. 

Voldemort walked straight into his back, which caused him to fall to the ground, to his embarrassment. He glared up at Potter, who just stood there. 'Hey Tommy-boy, have a look at this.' The man gestured to something next to the path. 

Large hoof prints were visible in the sand. The beast, whatever type of goat it was, seemed to have been here very recently judging by the freshness of the print. An involuntary shudder ran down Voldemort's spine; He had to actually force himself to keep from letting out what could only have been a whine. 

'Well, seems like that solved your earlier question.' Potter commented, almost nonchalantly. 'Let's hope this 'probably very scary murder goat' already ate for the day.' His voice irritatingly optimistic sounding, which grated on Voldemort's nerves, and turned whatever the shudder had been into anger. The suffering 'four-year-old' closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before counting to ten. Trust Potter to turn his justified wariness into what Voldemort wasn't even sure could qualify as a joke. 

'Wait a second...' The man mumbled, straining his eyes behind his round glasses. Voldemort followed Potter's gaze and noticed the other prints. His breath caught in his throat. With a sharp turn Potter turned in Voldemort's direction, but before he'd opened his mouth to ask the obvious, Voldemort said: 'Yes, it is what you think it is, probably.'

'You don't even know what I was thinking though!' 

'Of course I do, it's laughably obvious!'   
The large snake-like trail, in between the hoof prints, of the beast's probable tail spoke for itself, after all. It would be too much of a coincidence otherwise; The hypothetical snake never deviating much from its path following the prints. 

Potter had begun tapping his finger against his lips again, occasionally shifting the finger he used for this task, like he was playing a silent piano on his mouth. 

'Should we continue or track back?' 

Voldemort shrugged, it wouldn't matter either way, if the Chimaera was out for blood, and they often were, it would find them and kill them wherever they were. At least they could be 90 percent sure they were in Greece somewhere, that was at least better than possibly having ended up in Japan or something. Not that they could apparate yet, unfortunately. Attempting apparition from the middle of nowhere in Greece to somewhere in Brittain would be suicide. 

They would need a Portkey to be able to return. Voldemort had really hoped that they would still have been in the British Isles at least. Not that it surprised him that much at this point. His life had always gotten worse before it got better. He just hoped the pay-out for this would be a very dead Boy-Who-Ruined-His-Plans-Several-Times and a very alive new ruler of the Wizarding World. 

Potter had resumed walking while Voldemort had been musing, at least that's what Voldemort assumed when he came back to earth once more. He found he'd been almost instinctively moving his legs to keep up with the man. Frustratingly enough, his legs were actually starting to hurt after only about an hour of hiking. His four-year-old body needed to rest or it would likely collapse at some point. Not that he would ever ask Potter for a break, pride was a thing he liked to pride himself on. Of course, considering the likely Chimaera, resting might not be the most desirable of choices anyways. 

They weren't going back the way they'd come from. Voldemort prayed to Merlin that the Chimaera hadn't noticed them, or had perhaps never had any interest in them in the first place, despite the bloodthirsty nature of the creature. 

He should have known never to let any of his optimistic side talk. 

The next sign of the Chimaera that they came across was a dead stag. It should've been funny to Voldemort, especially considering the look Potter had sent the corpse, but it only served to give him the fear that this beast killed not for food, but simply for the fun of it. However, Potter surprised Voldemort somewhat with his next question: 'Think we can eat it?' 

'Do you want to be dragging along the heavy corpse of a bleeding animal, whilst the predator that killed it is probably sneaking up on us right now?' 

'Good point.' 

They ignored the carcass and went on their merry way. The trees seemed to loom over him endlessly, their shadows growing, as a firm breeze seemed to push them onwards.   
It was as if the wind was telling them to hurry, to break out into a run. Voldemort noticed he was almost running actually, but he stopped himself. 

Potter seemed a lot calmer than him, which left a sour taste in his mouth. He had always considered bravery to be an inadequate trait to define a house, after all you could argue that bravery was not so much a personality trait, as it was a situational thing. Additionally, this notion that Griffindors had to always be brave led to dumb decisions on their part. However, Voldemort had to concede that Potter at least was channeling this Griffindor-stupidity in a way to be able to push forward. 

'Are Chimaera's particularly afraid of fire?' 

'Hmm it might make them hesitate a bit before attacking something.'

'Guess that explains us not being attacked last night.'  
Voldemort hadn't even thought of that, but he supposed Potter was right. That, or no Chimaera actually lived here, even with the evidence hinting toward it. 

'Should we maybe create a fire, like a torch or something?' 

That could actually be a decent idea all things considered, and he was about to comment just that when the both of them heard a sound and froze in their tracks.   
Voldemort suddenly felt like they were being scrutinized by invisible feline eyes and had to suppress his immediate instincts to turn tail and run. 

Care of Magical Creatures had never interested him much in his life, of course he had gotten an O in it for his Newts, but that had been the end of that venture. He just hadn't really cared all that much to do extensive research into Creatures after, not even when he'd begun traveling the world. The only Creatures he knew more than just the basics of were probably Werewolves and Vampires, and that was because he'd used them for his side. Potter seemed to at least have more knowledge of what to do other than 'Do not run', and just suddenly seemed to have decided that picking up Voldemort was a great idea. 

Voldemort held back a pathetic whimper, but wasn't very successful.   
Potter just stood, silent and tall, his head cocked to the side as if that might make his ears work better. Time appeared to stand still, while in reality it might have only been about ten minutes before the pressure the presence of the Chimaera brought with it began to lessen, and Voldemort got the impression that the animal was moving away from them again. 

They did nothing for what were probably at least another ten minutes, before Potter begun moving with purposeful strides, still carrying Voldemort in his arms.   
Occasionally, he threw a glance over his shoulder for any signs that the beast may have decided to stalk them after all. Both of them said nothing to each other.  
They didn't even sigh in relief, as if that might jinx them and bring the beast upon them suddenly. 

It was a while before the rational side of Voldemort's brain booted up again.   
By then, everything was starting to feel safer again. He prayed the Chimaera had left them alone for good, maybe because it saw a potential threat in them? They were probably unfamiliar and thus potentially dangerous creatures to it after all.   
Of course, Voldemort would actually have been a threat if he was in his right body and had his wand, but that was irrelevant at the moment. 

He finally dared to let out a sigh, closed his eyes and subconsciously nestled himself further into Potter's arms. One good thing that had come from this, he supposed, was that it hadn't been necessary to ask for a break. Perhaps he could pass the time by thinking up ways to persuade Potter to always carry him like this? 

It was not terrible, well when it wasn't because there was a murderous beast contemplating if it desired you for desert or no, but still... 

Not terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter sitting ready and done since actually just after I posted the first one, I just found it difficult to post it for some reason? (Probably because of stupid perfectionalism?) I hope to become better with posting chapters consistently as this story continues.


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